


Silverclad

by Astaldont



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Bondage, Elvish marriage bonds, I saw that the Silm fandom only had two fics with sounding and they were both Angbang, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Nelyafinwë Maitimo is a Bastard Tease, Preestablished Consent, Sensory Deprivation but it doesn't really come into play much here, Sounding, and then I decided that the fandom deserves so much more than just that, this is just Blessed Hands fanfic tbh, ugh I hate English so much, yes this is PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-09
Updated: 2020-06-09
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:55:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24629647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Astaldont/pseuds/Astaldont
Summary: Nelyafinwë Maitimo is a tease, and Findekáno learns that bringing a sound to bed might not be such a bad idea after all.
Relationships: Fingon | Findekáno/Maedhros | Maitimo
Kudos: 60





	Silverclad

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ArvenaPeredhel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArvenaPeredhel/gifts), [StormXPadme](https://archiveofourown.org/users/StormXPadme/gifts).



> ArvenaPeredhel is solely responsible for this fic's existence. You can blame her for making me write it. (Thank you.)

Findekáno is blinded by a piece of silk, writhing as much as the bonds that kept him tied to their bed would allow, his dark form illuminated only by a pale moon and the soft glow of firelight. It is a sight that Nelyafinwë had been waiting upon for some time, and he finds himself tempted to savor the moment.

“I didn’t know that you wanted this so badly, _melindo_ ,” Nelyafinwë says, gentle and quiet, before bending his neck to press a kiss against the soft flesh where his husband’s hip met his thigh. “You ought to have told me sooner.”

A breathless whine is the only response that Findekáno offers him, and he chuckles quietly, before his hand reaches out to toy with the smooth bulb of silver resting against the head of his husband’s cock. Findekáno shudders, and then stills, and suddenly a sharp, glorious light overtakes their bond, and he is surrounded by burning and unrestrained _need_.

_Please._

His hand stills, and Findekáno gasps.

_I wish that you could see yourself._ he says, a gentle probe against the other _nér’s_ mind, and then places another kiss upon his husband’s hip. Frustration ripples through their bond, along with burning desire, and for a moment he is tempted to deny Findekáno his touch entirely, to slip away to his desk for another hour and to only return once his husband is begging for a single touch. A shiver runs through Findekáno, and it takes Nelyafinwë only a glance at his husband’s face to admit that he would not manage to keep himself from touching the bound _nér_ for so long.

“I think you ought to tell me what you’re begging for, _veru-nînya_ .” he murmurs, low and quiet. _Let me hear you, Finno._

_Touch me,_ the bound _nér_ replies, _Please._

“I am touching you, dearest.” Nelyafinwë says, and then bites back a soft moan when his husband tries fruitlessly to thrust into his hand.

_I need you to move,_ Findekáno begs, and had he been using his voice it would have been breathless. “Please, I - Maitimo, I _need_ you.”

All at once Nelyafinwë becomes suddenly aware of his own neglected desire, and for a moment more he admires the sight of his husband, eyes following the gleaming silver until it disappears within him, stretching him open and - _Oh, damn waiting, you are the most stunning thing that I have ever seen._ He thinks, and then lifts the sound from where it had been settled fully within Findekáno and begins a steady rhythm with it.

The sight of him is maddening, a breathtaking display of desire and trust and unrestrained _need,_ and as Nelyafinwë works him open with gentle thrusts of the smooth rod their bond fills with his silent, lovely pleading. Nelyafinwë knows that it will not be long before his husband finds his release, and for once, he does not care to deny him.

“You are stunning like this, my love,” he says, quiet but firm in his words. “I adore seeing you so full and desperate for me to touch you, desperate for me to take you in my hand and - !” he is interrupted by a shudder that rocks through his husband’s core, and smothered heat rushing through their bond.

The sound slides out of Findekáno smoothly, and the hand that had been guiding it wraps bruising fingers around one thigh as he takes the length of his husband into his mouth. Nelyafinwë nearly groans at the taste of him, and he bobs his head once, twice - _Let go, my lovely._ \- and then Findekáno cries out, and comes into his throat with a shudder and a thousand stars flaring to life within their bond.

By the time he goes slack Nelyafinwë has already freed one ankle, and it is not long before the smaller _nér_ is unbound completely, and gathered into his husband’s arms. 

Findekáno groans loudly, and curls into himself tightly enough that it seems he is trying to fit the whole of his body against his husband’s chest, until finally he stills, and tucks his face against Nelyafinwë’s shoulder. 

“Comfortable, my love?” Nelyafinwë asks, and he cannot keep the amusement from his voice. His husband responds with a contented hum, and a kiss placed against his collarbone. The world goes soft, and quiet, and he catches the edge of a fur, and wraps it around the both of them,

“Thank you.” Findekáno whispers, some minutes later.

“You’re welcome,” Nelyafinwë replies. “You ought to know that you did very well.”

“Good,” his husband murmurs, already half-asleep. “I'll give you your own turn soon enough.”

An image of himself kneeling, bound and desperate and clad only in silver jewelry brushes against the edges of his thoughts, and for a moment there is a possessive, loving _want_ that lights up their bond, before his husband gently tugs at his mind, and they slip into a dream.

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written in eight years. I feel like the English language isn't made for eloquence and I hate it with a burning passion. Hm.


End file.
